Horses in the Snow
by Tri Lorian
Summary: Lancelot falls ill, and off his horse. Yes, a pointless PWP ;) {Complete}


Lancelot kicked his black stallion in his flanks softly one more time to close the gap between him and Gawain once again. The ride through the cold and the snow had been cruel. His body shivered. A wet drop slit down his forehead between his eyes. Lancelot shook his head in annoyance, his vision blurring as the snow fell heavily. He blinked once, twice, to clear his vision. The falling snow was almost hypnotizing. His mind started to wander. The snow in front of his eyes turned to grass, green as far as he could see, only flowing over in blue skies farther away then he'd ever be able to ride. The rhythmic movements of the horse underneath him were soothing him. He could feel the sun burning down on him, and drops of sweat forming on his brow. A drumming sound reached his ears, almost deafening him. Horses were now running alongside him towards the horizon. He looked at them, looked for their riders, but they were not there. He didn't really expect them to be there, but he shook his head in annoyance once again. This time his vision did not blur. This time his vision grayed.

Bors was about to yell at Lancelot to keep close to Gawain for the third time within the last hour, when he noticed how Lancelot was shaking his head like he was trying to keep the snow from resting quietly on his dark curls. Before Bors could utter a sound, he was forced to reconsider for a second time within seconds what syllables would leave his mouth. Before his eyes and his horse, Lancelot sagged forward and fell off his horse sideways, crumbling to the ground, like a leave falling from a tree on a windless day.

"LANCELOT!" Bors' scream echoed through the mountains.

Arthur felt a shiver going through his spine when the scream reached his ears. He turned his grey horse so quickly that it almost stumbled in the snow. His breath hitched when he saw Lancelot lying still on the ground next to his horse.

Bors and Dagonet swiftly dismounted and ran towards Lancelot. "Lancelot!" Bors yelled again. He knelt besides the dark knight and gently turned him around onto his back.

Dagonet heard how Arthur jumped off his horse next to them and gasped in shock when he saw Lancelot. Lancelot's face seemed as pale as the snow he was laying in, his lips already tinged blue.

"What happened?" Arthur almost whispered when he knelt too next to Bors.

"I don't know. One moment he's on his horse, next he's not!" Ever the tough knight, but Bors could not keep the worry out of his voice.

Carefully Arthur placed his hand on Lancelot's face. "Lancelot! Lancelot! Can you hear me!", his voice insistent. "God, he's burning up with fever!" He looked up into Tristan's face who was kneeling besides Lancelot on his other side.

Tristan slowly nodded his head. "He's been ill all day," he stated matter of factly.

Arthur's gaze burned into his soul. "You knew? You knew! And you didn't say anything!" He turned back to his fallen knight, his eyes softening immediately. "We have to find a place to make camp."

Although he was not looking at him, Tristan understood what Arthur was saying. He straightened. "It wasn't my place to tell. It was his decision to make, wisely or wrongly so." With those words he turned and left to find a suitable spot to spend the night.

Before Arthur was able to respond, his attention was called back to Lancelot. A groan escaped the lips of the pale man. "Lancelot? Wake up! Lancelot?"

Lancelot's eyelids started to flutter, and it wasn't long before Arthur looked into the dazed brown eyes of his first knight and best friend. "Lancelot, can you hear me?"

No recognition was shining in Lancelot's eyes. "Lancelot?"

"Horses?" It was no more than a whisper, and it took Arthur a few seconds to recognize the word that Lancelot had uttered.

"Your horse?" Incredibility was clear in Arthur's voice. "He's fine. You fell off your horse, but nothing happened to him." Arthur looked up to Bors just in time to catch the look that Bors was exchanging with Dagonet. It wasn't confusion that he was seeing there, like he was feeling himself, but recognition. Before he could ask about it, his attention was once again drawn back to Lancelot.

The young Sarmatian knight had started to shiver violently, his teeth clattering together. "Cold..." he stammered, while the snow on his fevered forehead melted the moment it touched down.

"We'll get you warm soon! We'll make a fire as soon as Tristan returns," Arthur tried to soothe Lancelot. "Can you sit up? I'll wrap you up in my cloak."

Lancelot continued to look at him like he didn't see Arthur. "Cold..." he mumbled once more, like he didn't hear him either.

Tristan appeared at Lancelot's side as suddenly as the first time. "There is a suitable camping spot just a short ride from here to the east."

Arthur nodded, and turned back to Lancelot just in time to see the dark eyes close again. "Lancelot! No! Stay awake, Lancelot! Don't go back to sleep just yet!"

Arthur tried to awaken Lancelot but to no avail. His second in command wasn't responding.

"Dagonet, help me get him up on my horse! Tristan, Gawain, ride ahead and start a fire!" Arthur commanded, never taking his eyes off of Lancelot.

When Dagonet approached and scooped up Lancelot in his arms, Arthur whistled to his horse and mounted quickly. He could see that Dagonet was treating the man in his arms like he was extremely fragile and could brake into a thousand pieces any second. Despite his bulk, Dagonet was probably one of the gentler knights under his command.

Dagonet lifted Lancelot into the waiting arms of his commander. Arthur put his arm around the unconscious man's chest, and hugged him close. He could feel the frantic heartbeat of Lancelot against his chest, and soon he could sense the heat waving off the body against his, seeping through his clothing.

"Hurry, knights! We have to hurry!" Arthur set off in the direction that Tristan and Gawain had disappeared to. He urged his horse to go as fast as he dared with the precious cargo in his arms.

Tristan had been right – he'd found a clearing in the forest nearby that would give them some cover against the relentless snowfall. Arthur reached it after riding for only a mile or so. The moment he reined in his horse, Gawain made his way over to him.

"How is he?" the blond knight whispered, like he was afraid to wake up the ill Sarmatian.

Arthur shook his head. "Not good." He sounded frightened. "He's burning from the inside. We need to get his fever down!"

Arthur gently lowered Lancelot down into Gawain's awaiting arms. All of his knights had arrived in the small camp now, and were busying around. Bors took the reins out of Arthur's hands as soon as he had dismounted. Gawain was cradling Lancelot against his chest as a small child. The feared knight looked surprisingly small while lying pale and still in the arms of his comrade.

Arthur saw that Tristan had almost got the fire roaring, and turned back towards his horse. He unbuckled the straps that were wound around his bedroll. Quickly unfolding it, he placed it next to the fire, and motioned to Gawain to lay Lancelot on top of it.

Once more Arthur placed his hand on Lancelot's forehead to gauge his fever. "God, please…" For a moment, he closed his eyes to pray to his God silently. Then he opened them again, and transformed back into the knights' commander. "Tristan, we need water to cool him down! Galahad, we're going to need something to keep his strength up. Dagonet, we need more wood to keep the fire going." He didn't need to command either Bors, who was taking care of the horses, or Gawain, who was emptying his saddle bags to find cloths or bandages they could use to soak with water and place on Lancelot's body to cool him down.

Tristan knelt down next to Arthur at the same time that Gawain handed all the fabrics that he'd been able to find to him. Tristan started to wet the cloths with the water from his water sack. The water was as cold as the air around them. Handing the first cloth to Arthur, Tristan proceeded to wet several more, while Arthur placed the first one over Lancelot's forehead. Arthur could feel the tremors going through Lancelot's body, realizing they had only increased since they'd had stopped.

When Arthur had finished placing all the wet cloths on Lancelot's face and in his neck, he sat back next to his friend. The other knights had all gathered around the fire. Galahad was handing out pieces of bread and dried meat. Normally, their gatherings after a long day riding were loud affairs – laughter and talking and arguing piercing the surroundings – if there were no Woads about – but this time there was only a heavy silence. They ate in silence, with most eyes on the prone figure of Lancelot, dealing with their inner turmoil.

Arthur's mind weaved back to a horrific event that all of them had witnessed in the fortress not a week ago: one of the Roman legionnaires had befallen a high fever and had been delirious for days. The healers at the fort had been unsuccessful at lowering the man's temperature, and one morning when the knights were getting ready to go on patrol, the man had suddenly appeared in the stables in his night tunic. Gawain had tried to talk with the man, but there had been no light in his eyes. He had stared dead ahead, like he wasn't aware of anything or anyone around him. Then suddenly he had let out a bloodcurling scream and ran forward without any warning into one of the younger horses' boxes. The horse had been spooked beyond fear and had proceeded to kick the man until he had lain dead in a pool of his own blood. It had all occurred in a brief moment, and none of them had been able to interfere, but Arthur knew that the image of the dead eyes of the man, in life and dead, were haunting more than one of his men in their sleep. The healers had proclaimed that the legionnaire had gone mad as a result of the fever.

Suddenly Arthur came aware of movement next to him. He snapped out of his thoughts and turned his attention back to Lancelot. It hadn't been Lancelot who had caused the movement, but Tristan, who was checking if Lancelot's fever had gone down at all.

Arthur watched as Tristan placed his hand on the cloth of Lancelot's forehead, and saw a look of surprise, immediately followed by grave concern flash over the scout's face. When Tristan looked up, he looked straight into his commander's gaze. "It's not working."

All heads around the fire whipped up and stared at Tristan. He didn't have to explain what he meant – they all understood – but were just as stunned as the scout had been when he touched the now warm cloth.

Arthur had immediately moved to join Tristan. He felt like his hand was almost scalded when he touched Lancelot's brow. Without a moment's hesitation, he addressed Tristan and Gawain once more. "We need to undress him."

Tristan and Gawain shared a look of uncertainty before they both joined their leader in removing Lancelot's boots, arm and leg protectors, immediately followed by his armor and chain mail shirt. Swift hands did not stop there, and proceeded to undo the laces of Lancelot's leather trousers. "Gawain, pull them down. Tristan, help me sit him up, so we can remove his shirt."

Mere minutes later, Lancelot was lying completely naked on Arthur's bedding. Realizing what Arthur had been thinking, Tristan was soaking all the cloths that Gawain had gathered earlier, and one by one they were placed on Lancelot's still body. The Sarmatian was now shaking violently, whether from the fever or the cold cloths was unclear. But he was still not showing any signs of waking up. Not even the cold wind blowing over his naked form, nor the cold rags on his skin seemed to have brought him any closer to consciousness.

Arthur didn't think Lancelot could become any paler than he already had. His skin was almost translucent. Tenderly, Arthur placed his hand on the dark curls that were moist with snow and sweat. "Lancelot?" So much meaning and pleading was behind the one name.

"Arthur, we could place him in the snow…" Tristan's voice trailed off. Arthur lingered on it a for a second, before nodding pensively.

Arthur got up on his heels, and placed his arms underneath Lancelot, pulling the nude body to his chest. With a groan, he heaved both of them to a stand. A few steps further brought them out of the shadow of the trees and into the open clearing where a thick layer of virgin snow covered the ground.

Determined and uncertain at the same time, Arthur lowered Lancelot down to the ground and into the cold snow. A few seconds past before Arthur could feel the frantic heartbeat beneath his hands turn into a thundering one. The other knights had moved with Arthur to the clearing and watched, standing around the two men now, ready to help whenever help was needed. Six pairs of eyes were focused on Lancelot, willing him to react.

Still they were all startled, when suddenly with a gasp Lancelot opened his eyes and let out an eternal moan. Before he could speak, his body started to shake so badly, that Arthur was afraid that he was having a seizure. Pain and shock flared in the brown eyes when they met Arthur's.

"Lancelot." Arthur had to resist the urge to take the man into an embrace. Joy filled his heart when he saw the look of recognition in Lancelot's eyes, a look that had been missing entirely when he had awoken earlier after his collapse from his horse.

"Arthur?" The name had hardly left his lips or the sound was replaced with the sound of clattering teeth. "C… cold…" Lancelot managed to stammer. His voice shook with his body.

"I know," Arthur answered trying to soothe his knight, placing a hand on his biceps. "We have to get your fever down!"

"C… cold!" Lancelot repeated, desperately.

Arthur was being torn up inside, knowing that the best thing to do was to leave Lancelot in the cooling snow for a bit longer, but at the same time he felt horrified by the mere torture they were subjecting the Sarmatian to. "Just a little longer, my friend," Arthur promised.

"C… cold…" Lancelot repeated for a third time, not showing any sign that he had heard Arthur's words.

Arthur was grateful when Galahad knelt down opposite of him, holding a steaming bowl and a spoon in his hands. He looked at Arthur questioningly. Arthur gave a small nod and reached over Lancelot to accept the bowl. "Lancelot!" he said urgently.

It took a few seconds, but then Lancelot turned his gaze towards Arthur.

Arthur noticed with concern that the glazed look was returning to his friend's eyes. "Lancelot, can you hear me?"

An almost imperceivable nod followed from Lancelot.

"I'm going to spoon some warm broth into your mouth, okay? It should help you feel a little warmer." Carefully, Arthur placed the spoon with the yellow liquid on Lancelot's lower lip, allowing the fluid to slowly drip into his mouth..

Lancelot responded by licking his lips and slowly closing his eyes once more. The rattling of his teeth or the shaking of his body didn't cease.

Jolted by the realization that Lancelot might have been more affected already by the fever than he feared, Arthur put down the bowl on the ground and placed his hands on Lancelot's shoulder, shaking him mildly. "Lancelot! Open your eyes! You have to fight this! Come on, we know you can fight this!"

Another moan escaped from Lancelot's lips, but that was all the reaction that Arthur got out of him. A chill got hold of Arthur's heart, afraid that the man that he loved like a brother would succumb to this fever.

Moving silently like a cat, Tristan had knelt down next to Arthur unnoticed by the Roman. He was startled out of his thoughts when his scout leaned over to once again feel Lancelot's forehead. "We should take him out of the snow before he starts to freeze to death."

Arthur turned around to Dagonet. "There should be another cloak in my saddle bag. We can wrap him in it for warmth."

While Dagonet went to get the cloak, Arthur place his arms under Lancelot's body again. This time he was surprised by the coldness of the naked skin against his hands. He cradled Lancelot against him, hoping that some of his body heat would travel to the Sarmatian, warming him. He stood waiting until Dagonet returned with the red cloak. Dagonet had spread the cloak over his strong arms and accepted Lancelot in his arms as Arthur handed the pale body to him. Arthur folded the cloak around Lancelot before he nodded to Dagonet to carry him to the fire once more, and place him back on Arthur's bedding.

As soon as Lancelot was laying on the ground again, Arthur sat on one side of him, with Tristan on the other. Galahad approached with his own bedroll and placed his bedding over Lancelot.

At first, the silence in the camp returned again, until the knights except for Arthur and Tristan began to talk to one another. The crackling of the fire seemed to be the only other sound.

Lancelot suddenly came aware of a hand that was placed on his forehead. It felt cool against his skin which had almost been sizzling with heat. He could hear the noise that his own teeth were making and he could hear voices also, but he couldn't make out the words. His brain felt like it had turned into mush. Then a voice came that he could make out. "He feels cooler." He knew the voice, but he couldn't remember a name to go along. His brain seemed to be resonating with the rest of his shaking body and wasn't at all functional. Another voice answered, "He should have woken up…" Arthur, it flashed through his mind, but before he could grasp the thought, it had gone again, leaving him with only the sensation of cold that was everywhere.

Something warm was placed against his lips. Again, he thought. He tried to swallow when the fluid flowed into his mouth, but he was too late. He started coughing and an incredible pain exploded in his head. His eyes flew open in utter surprise.

Arthur looked straight into the wide open eyes of Lancelot, mirroring the same surprise and shock that was carved on his own face. Before he could act, Tristan had pulled Lancelot upright by his arms. Tristan immediately moved closer to Lancelot to support his back while the coughs racked his body.

Arthur and the rest of the knights stared on while Lancelot was spasming in Tristan's arms. It seemed like hours but after a few minutes the coughing started to die down, and Lancelot allowed himself to lean against the man supporting him. Tristan, he thought and remembered then that he had been the unidentified voice. Not being able to look the man holding him into his face, he focused on the owner of the other voice he had heard – Arthur's.

"Cold."

Arthur almost had to laugh at the persistence almost impatience that Lancelot was showing in relaying to him that he was cold. "I know. We're trying to get you warm again."

An incredulous look passed over Lancelot's features, but he didn't reply in words. Arthur didn't miss the look though. The previous haze had left the dark eyes and while there was still pain and confusion to be read, he seemed so much more aware of what was going on. Maybe Tristan was right, Arthur thought. Maybe they did manage to get his fever down.

"How are you feeling?" Arthur asked.

For a moment, Arthur was afraid that he had been mistaken, that Lancelot was still very much in the grips of the fever, as he didn't answer. Then the quiet reply reached his ears. "Cold?" The word was loaded with much meaning. Arthur knew that had Lancelot been well, he would have smirked at him. Of course, Arthur realised, if Lancelot had been well, none of this would have happened.

A small smile did creep onto his face. "And besides cold?"

"Tired." Lancelot sighed and seemed to slump against Tristan further. He felt the hands on his shoulders, lifting him slightly, and then he was lowered down to the ground completely.

"Then sleep. You have a lot of healing to do." Arthur's gaze never lost contact with Lancelot's when Tristan put him down onto the bedding once more.

"Cold." It sounded like a petulant child.

Laughter reached Arthur's ears from all around him as the knights expressed their relief in smiles upon seeing some of the old sulky, moody and playful Lancelot come through again in that one word.

Lancelot's eyes began to flutter close again. Images of flying horses were before his eyes, but they were no longer running over the green meadows of his homeland, but through the snow covered hills of the wretched island that had been his home for the past fourteen years.

"You're going to be alright." Arthur whispered to the already sleeping knight.


End file.
